


Perceptual Disagreement

by beggar_always



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: First Date, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beggar_always/pseuds/beggar_always
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Eames thinks is their first date, isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perceptual Disagreement

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt by mesmorizee. Just a short little thing without any real plot to it.

Oddly enough, it’s Arthur who thinks they’ve been dating a lot longer than they actually have. Eames can’t help that he can’t honestly consider anything involving Guns and/or Running-for-Their-Lives a date, no matter how much incredible, Thank-God-We’re-Still-Alive Sex may follow. Eames had grown up in a _manor_ for Christ’s sake. His entire worldview relies on the existence of Romance.

So now Eames is at a disadvantage he’s not even aware of. He’s walked into the restaurant with nerves he’ll never admit to actually having, thinking he absolutely _cannot_ screw up this first date with Arthur; not when it’s taken nearly a _year_ to convince the point man to accompany him to a fancy dinner, just the two of them.

Not that they don’t already eat a lot of meals together; but greasy take away and unimaginative room service menus have never really fit Eames’ idea of romance.

Arthur tucks into his meal like any other he’s ever eaten in the company of Eames. Eames thinks he’s doing a fairly good job of putting on an air of Business-as-Usual himself, but he catches himself openly staring at his dinner companion a few too many times.

“...so I told Baker there’s no way in _hell_ I’m working another job with him,” Eames suddenly realizes Arthur is saying. His realization comes about the same time Arthur seems to realize he hasn’t really been listening. Arthur does that thing where he doesn’t quite sigh, but Eames can tell he _really_ wants to, as he picks up his wine glass.

“Usually you at least pretend I’m fascinating,” Arthur comments dryly. They both know it’s a lie - Eames is never shy about telling _anyone_ when they’re boring him. He takes particular delight in letting Arthur know when he’s being dull. This time, Eames can’t think of a response and instead looks deeply into his salad. Arthur does sigh then, very quietly and using a sip of his wine as cover.

“I know money isn’t actually a concern, but you could have picked at considerably cheaper food back at the hotel and I could have finished going through Wetzel’s bank records.”

Eames looks up at that and gapes across the table. Arthur looks back at him, seemingly bored, maybe even a little annoyed, and Eames feels a sudden flash of anger. His nerves finally get the best of him.

“Of course, darling,” he snaps, tossing his napkin onto the table as he stands. “How could I have forgotten about the job?” Eames turns to leave and is surprised when a hand reaches out to catch hold of his wrist. He turns to look at Arthur and forces himself to _really_ look. Beneath all the feigned annoyance, Arthur’s expression is vaguely...concerned. They stare at each other for a long moment before they both remember they’re in a public place. Their... _disagreements_ have been known to turn into fairly aggressive sparring sessions and Eames knows from rather embarrassing experience that violence is wholly unappreciated in a Michelin 3-star restaurant.

Arthur lets go of his wrist and casually dabs at his mouth with his own napkin. “I’ll settle the bill while you find us a cab,” he says, very quietly. Eames is out the door and on the curb before he remembers their hotel is only two blocks away - they’d walked to dinner. He’s thinking about walking on ahead of Arthur, maybe even going back to his own room for the first time since they’d both arrived in the city. Arthur appears at his side before Eames can start walking. The other man doesn’t say anything as he buttons his coat, he just looks at Eames for a moment before he turns and leads the way toward the hotel.

They’re both silent for the first half block. Eames is busy stewing over things in his head that he reacts on reflex more than anything and curls his fingers around Arthur’s when Arthur takes hold of his hand. When his brain finally catches up to the action, Eames stops in his tracks. This draws an annoyed look from Arthur as he stumbles slightly. Eames stares down at their hands in confusion. They have _never_ held hands in public. At least, not when both of them were conscious and neither one gravely injured.

“I don’t get it,” Eames blurts out. Arthur frowns at him and is forced to step in closer as a cluster of fellow pedestrians try to make their way past them.

“What?” Arthur asks, even as he shoots a glare after a man who had just accidentally elbowed him in passing.

“You complained about our nice, romantic dinner and now you want to _hold hands_ for our leisurely stroll back to the hotel?” Arthur’s frown deepens in a way that’s more in the brow than the jaw. He opens his mouth, then closes it, and something seems to click suddenly.

“Why was this meal so important to you?” he asks seriously. Eames feels a twinge of hurt that Arthur has to _ask_.

“I’m not exactly the ‘date’ type, Arthur,” Eames admits. “I’ve not had a first date in nearly a decade.”

“First date...?” Arthur looks even more confused. “Eames, we’ve been together for _months_.” Technically, it’s true. Ever since the Fischer job, and Cobb’s supposed ‘retirement,’ Eames and Arthur have been building up a name for themselves as the new unstoppable duo in the business. Since leaving Los Angeles, Eames can’t think of a time they’ve spent more than a consecutive week or two apart.

“Sex isn’t...” Eames begins. Arthur rolls his eyes and leans in to interrupt him with a kiss. A surprisingly soft, you’re-an-idiot-and-I-love-you-anyway kind of kiss.

“Glasgow; eight months ago,” Arthur says when he steps back. Eames stares at him, baffled. “We’d just finished the Reynolds job. I came down with the flu. We stayed at that hotel an extra couple days. _I_ was sick; you just stuck around to look after me.” At the time, Eames had mostly just been amused to watch Arthur waddle around huddled in a duvet. He hadn’t been able to pass up the opportunity for the entertainment. “That first night, you brought me that god-awful soup and we watched that black and white with Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn...”

“ _Holiday_ ,” Eames says quietly, remembering. Arthur had dozed through most of the movie, pressed up close to Eames on the hotel room’s tiny sofa.

Arthur smiles just slightly. “Yeah. It wasn’t anything fancy, and I think I coughed too much for it to have been romantic, but _that_ was our first date. Dinner without the pretext of work. A movie that wasn’t for research. I even let you stay the night.”

“You passed out from your cold medication,” Eames corrects, mostly just to make Arthur lean in and kiss him again. “You could’ve told me that was a date,” Eames murmurs against Arthur’s lips between kisses. People are still pushing around them, but Eames doesn’t care - not when Arthur’s pressed close.

“Yeah, well, you don’t seem to handle the whole ‘first date’ thing too well,” Arthur murmurs back. Eames nips at his bottom lip in retaliation and Arthur pulls away enough to start walking toward the hotel again. His hand is still in Eames’, pulling him along after.

/end


End file.
